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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22722805">one of a kind, no category</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/solacefruit/pseuds/solacefruit'>solacefruit</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Warriors - Erin Hunter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Beta Read, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:07:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,798</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22722805</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/solacefruit/pseuds/solacefruit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Why us? </i>said several voices. </p><p>“I want to hear about your lives,” said Kitewhisker. “From you.”</p><p><i>You’ve heard us in your stories</i>, replied the voices. </p><p>“There’s more,” said Kitewhisker. She stood firm, tail raised. “I know there’s more than what we’re told.”</p><p><i>And if there’s nothing?</i> said the voices.</p><p>“You were someone,” said Kitewhisker. “All of you. No-one’s life is nothing.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>171</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>one of a kind, no category</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kitewhisker padded down into the cold stone hollow alone. Ahead, she could hear the distant trickling of water, the soft echoes of the sound caressing the sensitive fur inside her ears as she followed it into the dark. She listened her way down the long tunnel, her whiskers feeling nothing as she walked but the eerie stillness: no breeze, no voices, no tremors of life.</p><p>She turned a final corner. At the end, she glimpsed faint glittering light. </p><p>Her heart fluttered, bird-like in its fear, but she prowled forward into the cavern with her head held high without hesitation. </p><p>Inside the grander cave was the Moonpool, rippling gently. Starlight sparkled across its surface; their light fell from the sky through the single small fracture in the rock ceiling onto the water and, around the edges of the sacred hollow, shadows ebbed and swayed with movement of these displaced stars.</p><p>There was a thin trail of worn stone weaving down to the pool, smooth from generations of pawsteps, and Kitewhisker took her place on the path, padding carefully to the water’s edge.</p><p>“Starclan,” she said, her voice sounding thin and faraway in the emptiness of the space. “I am Kitewhisker of Windclan, and I have come to ask you for my lives. Please give me your blessing as the new leader of my clan.”</p><p>She crouched low, drinking from the pool. It was impossibly cold, but tasted of nothing; her teeth hurt and her tongue hummed from the chill of it. </p><p>She waited, eyes closed. </p><p>There was no way to judge the passing of time in the cavern. There were no drips of water to count, no cries of other creatures in the night. Kitewhisker focused on the constant low trickle of water over the stones into the pool, focused on how the water moved and gathered and moved again from the falls to the pool to the sleek black stream that disappeared to somewhere deep and unknowable in the cavern. It sounded like the purr of the earth, that gentle, ceaseless burble; it was just as purposeless and soothing, and all while she listened, she thought about the circle it made with itself: water going somewhere, going nowhere, going around the world in rivers and brooks and lakes to return to the cave, warriors going through life to return to… Starclan. </p><p>She did not open her eyes, although she felt the cave around her shifting, watching. Tingles ran over her fur. The space was still held in perfect stillness, like the moment before a breath, but Kitewhisker could feel she was no longer alone. </p><p>Echoes still caressed her ears, but now she could make out the voices inside the echoes, murmuring and musical, almost lost in the sound of water. </p><p><em>Welcome, Kitewhisker of Windclan, </em>said many voices. <em>Starclan greets you. </em></p><p>Only then did she risk opening her eyes. </p><p>The darkness had deepened around her and she could no longer make out the cave walls or ceiling; only shadows, prowling, a thousand of them streaming together like water. Star-bright eyes flashed, so many at once that they seemed to twinkle as they looked upon Kitewhisker, and before her, the Moonpool now shone holy white. </p><p><em>Starclan judges you to be a worthy leader</em>, said the voices. <em>You will receive your lives with our blessing. </em></p><p>Kitewhisker became aware of fog, growing denser and denser, around her, and then blinked, realising her eyes were not truthful: it was not fog. It tasted of nothing, smelled of nothing, and she could not feel the damp of it against her fur or whiskers. It pressed against her, but she could see through it; even as it roiled and curled like smoke, her vision was clear—but somehow, she realised, she saw <em>more</em>. The air was thicker, almost blurry with density, and she knew she was seeing through something other than her eyes now, because there was no other way for this to be true.</p><p>It was as though she could see her reflection on the surface of a river, but there were uncountable rivers, flowing together at the same time, each reflection different and unfamiliar. There were glimpses of the glorious reds of a Thunderclan leaf-fall at midday, and the vivid gold and bone-white of Windclan in leaf-bare, and the lush dark greens and greys of Shadowclan after rain, and the sparkling black of Riverclan on a moonless night. Kitewhisker saw them all at once, overlapping each other, like leaf-litter made of memories. </p><p>It was time, she realised. She was seeing through time. </p><p><em>Cats of the past will come to you</em>, murmured the voices, <em>and grant you their strength and wisdom</em>. <em>Take their experience and learn from their lives</em>.</p><p>“Wait!” said Kitewhisker. The darkness rippled, as if in surprise. “Thank you for this honour, but… if I may, there are cats I would like to meet.”</p><p>The mist of time around her swirled thoughtfully, as star-eyed shadows rustled in indecipherable discussion.</p><p><em>Call them to you now</em>, said the cats of Starclan. <em>If they wish to tell you their story, they will come</em>. </p><p>Kitewhisker closed her eyes and thought carefully, willing the shapes of cats she had never met to form in her mind. For some, there was only a name left, mentioned only once in passing, in a story that had begun to fade and fall apart over the generations of retelling. </p><p>“Please answer my call,” said Kitewhisker, looking into the dark for a sign. </p><p>For a moment, there was nothing: the translucent fog simply curved and furled, and the eyes of Starclan glittered and teemed from all sides, and Kitewhisker’s heart fluttered fearfully again.</p><p>Then the fog wavered. A figure stepped through it, taking shape, and then another. Several cats, all rippling and time-coloured, stepped away from the smoke and appeared around the glowing pool. Their bodies were undefined: more the silhouette of a cat than a real cat, and Kitewhisker found it difficult to look at them directly—in fact, they seemed to vanish the closer she stared. Only their eyes, all as sharp and bright as the moon beside them, were visible, staring back at her. </p><p><em>Why us?</em> said several voices. </p><p>“I want to hear about your lives,” said Kitewhisker. “From you.”</p><p><em>You’ve heard us in your stories</em>, replied the voices. </p><p>“There’s more,” said Kitewhisker. She stood firm, tail raised. “I know there’s more than what we’re told.”</p><p><em>And if there’s nothing?</em> said the voices.</p><p>“You were someone,” said Kitewhisker. “All of you. No-one’s life is nothing.”</p><p>There was a stir in the air around her, a sigh of wind from nowhere. It ruffled her fur and swirled the smoke, and a silhouette stepped into the moonlight. As the light touched her, she became solid, colour and weight rushing to her, until she stood before Kitewhisker, looking proud and alive—except for the faint wisps of light melting from her fur, like dust motes fading into the dark. </p><p>The cat levelled her gaze with Kitewhisker, looking down her long nose. Her amber eyes were slanted, intelligent and rich as honey. </p><p>“<em>No-one’s life is nothing</em>,” she repeated. “A wise lesson.” She paused, looking into the distant shadows of Starclan. “One I wish I learned earlier in my life. You know who I am?”</p><p>Kitewhisker nodded. There was no mistaking the beautiful golden dappled pelt, or the elegance of her stance. </p><p>“You’re Leopardstar of Riverclan,” said Kitewhisker. “You were leader of your clan on the journey to this territory.”</p><p>There had been many leaders since then; the journey was a part of legend now, something no living cat could even imagine. </p><p>“My legacy,” said Leopardstar, sardonic light in her eyes. Then she became more serious. “I am remembered best for my greatest mistakes,” she said. “When clan-mates needed me most, I made the wrong choices. I believed I was doing what was right for the cats who needed me. I thought I was protecting Riverclan, but instead I betrayed the clan I loved. Fear clouded my judgement.”</p><p>“The story says it’s because you loved him,” said Kitewhisker, “the tyrant?”</p><p>Leopardstar curled her lip in disgust. “<em>No</em>,” she said. “My flaws were prejudice and pride, but never <em>that</em>. In my life, I was devoted to my clan and I was a strategic leader. In Riverclan, we believed that the blood of River was divine: it made <em>us</em> divine and would allow us to pass from the world of the living to Starclan. But we feared for some time that the blood was growing thin, diluted from generations of mixing with other clans and strangers and the tainted ones.” </p><p><em>The cats who lived with humans</em>, thought Kitewhisker. Riverclan had always been superstitious about coming into contact with anything human. </p><p>“The clan was weakening, our territory was changing,” said Leopardstar. “The omens pointed to a time of revelation and despair coming closer. And I was the leader. It was <em>my</em> duty to protect my clan. I feared that if I didn’t act decisively, Riverclan would soon lose our only way home to Starclan. Every cat, from kit to warrior, would be made to wander the below world alone in death, unable to cross the river. The price for inaction was too great,” she explained. “Riverclan needed strength and unity. We needed to return to tradition, which had kept us safe since the clan was first blessed. I couldn’t see any other way forward.”</p><p>Leopardstar stood, tall and dignified, but her ears were half-flattened with regret and sorrow. </p><p>“I was left to make impossible decisions and no matter what I did, I was sure to lose,” she said. “To trade the lives of some for the afterlives of all. To trade Riverclan’s freedom for Riverclan’s survival. I had no way of knowing the future, but I did everything I could to try to make sure there would <em>be</em> a future. I did it for love,” she said, eyes glittering, “but it was never for <em>him</em>.”</p><p>She stepped forward and touched her nose to Kitewhisker’s brow. </p><p>“Learn from my story,” she said, “and take this life of mine. With it, strive for justice. Protect the vulnerable in your care. Speak against the wrongs you see. Make the best choices you can,” said Leopardstar, a tremor in her voice, “because you will have to live with them, no matter what happens.”</p><p>She stepped out of the moonlight, disappearing into mist again.</p><p>Another shape moved, forming in front of Kitewhisker. </p><p>She was a pleasant-looking elder, her pelt a soft-coloured patchwork of pale grey and washed-out ginger. Her deep orange eyes narrowed in friendly greeting. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” said Kitewhisker. “I don’t know you.”</p><p>“I know,” said the cat. “But you called for me, so here I am.”</p><p>“I did?”</p><p>The old cat nodded, sitting herself comfortably down and wrapping her bushy tail around her paws. </p><p>“You asked for the forgotten,” said the elder, “and the overlooked. You asked for the cats not important enough for legends, not renowned enough for a legacy. You asked for the cats who sacrificed everything doing what was right, but who never get remembered for it. Here I am.”</p><p>Kitewhisker bowed her head in respect. </p><p>“I am Rosetail of Thunderclan,” said the faintly glittering cat. “I lived a good life. I was loyal to my clan, and I did my duty. I was reliable and kind to my clan-mates as a warrior. I followed the code in all of my choices. I became an elder when my legs started to creak when I walked, and then I told kits stories of great cats from the past and advised my leader and led the psalms of my clan at dawn and sun-high and dusk, as any good elder should. There is nothing I would have done differently,” said Rosetail.</p><p>“You sacrificed your life?” said Kitewhisker. </p><p>“I was murdered,” said Rosetail, “as I defended the nursery from Shadowclan raiders. I was too old to fight against young, strong warriors.”</p><p>“But you did it anyway,” said Kitewhisker.</p><p>Rosetail nodded. “I slowed them down. That was all I could do. Sometimes your sacrifice doesn’t stop the terror, but you have to make it anyway. When your strength fails you, your body can still be an obstacle,” she said with grim satisfaction.</p><p>She gestured with a nod and Kitewhisker lowered her head again, so Rosetail could reach. She placed her nose to Kitewhisker’s brow, as Leopardstar had, and said, “Learn from my story and take this life. With it, embody <em>courage</em>. Throw yourself at living with everything you have and expect no glory for your fearlessness. Think of me and be brave, for I will be with you.” </p><p>Rosetail stood up and padded stiffly into the shifting darkness. </p><p>The darkness stepped into the light, sleek and shimmering, and then opened her amber eyes. The black cat strode forward, muscles rippling under her pelt, her expression intent. </p><p>“I am Nightcloud of Windclan,” she announced. “<em>Yes</em>.” Her ear twitched. “That one.”</p><p>“I didn’t know if you’d answer my call,” said Kitewhisker. “I’ve heard…”</p><p>“I know what they say about me,” said Nightcloud, not waiting for the rest of the story. “The spiteful mate, the overbearing mother, the queen jealous of another clan’s medicine cat. I know the poison my name tastes like to everyone who thinks of me that way. But I want to tell you <em>my </em>side of it.” </p><p>She lashed her tail, ears set resolutely in a resentful frown. It was easy to see her as the cat Kitewhisker had heard of in jokes, the emblem of soured love and failed partnerships. </p><p>“Are you what they say you are?” asked Kitewhisker.</p><p>“Yes,” said Nightcloud, her bluntness surprising Kitewhisker. “I was never… sweet. I wasn’t <em>nice,</em> or amusing with my words. I wasn’t the kind of cat that was easily adored—or so I’ve been told. So I tried too hard to make up for what I wasn’t, and that drove people ever further away from me.” Her whiskers, stark white against her black fur, twitched, like she was enjoying a private joke. “I’m unlikeable,” she said, plainly, without emotion. “But I used to have friends.” </p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>“One died,” she said. “Mudclaw. We thought he was the rightful leader of Windclan—I know you know <em>that </em>story—but obviously that fell through. Loyalty was in a shambles after that, with some of us still believing in him and others having already declared their trust in Tallstar’s dying choice. The new deputy’s son ran off with the Thunderclan medicine cat not long after—I’m sure you know that too,” she said, with a faint roll of eyes, “it’s so <em>romantic</em>, <em>ugh</em>, everyone tells that kind of story—but then realised his mistake and returned to Windclan, begging forgiveness.”</p><p>Kitewhisker nodded. So far, this was all part of well-known Windclan history. </p><p>“Those who believed in Mudclaw were looking for renewed trust from Windclan too,” said Nightcloud. “We had to prove we were still loyal.” </p><p>A bitter expression flickered across her face, tail tip twitching. </p><p>“That was when the elders spoke to me,” she said. “They said there was a way we could prove our loyalty. Both of us regain some reputation. They told me if I took <em>him</em> as a mate, the son of the deputy and the first to trust in Tallstar’s final wish, the clan would trust <em>me</em> again. They told me it was time for me to do my duty for Windclan, to smooth things over in these troubled times, and I believed them. But before I talked to him, I asked the elders, <em>how could this work? I don’t love him</em>.”</p><p>She turned her wasp-coloured eyes to Kitewhisker.</p><p>“Want to know what they said?” Her voice was nearly spitting. “They said to me: <em>wait</em>. <em>He knows this is good for him, he will say yes</em>. And he did say yes, and we had a litter before long. But he didn’t love me, as hard as I tried to be a good mate. He was barely interested in me.” </p><p>The starlight caught the shine of her claws, flexing against the white stone. </p><p>“Around me, my remaining friends watched me plead with this cat to love me, like it was <em>my</em> idea to be unwanted and disrespected; and I could never tell anyone my feelings for him weren’t true either, or it would disgrace us both. Then my kittens were born and he didn’t care,” said Nightcloud. “Not when they died. Not when one lived. I spoke to the elders and they said: <em>wait. He’s grieving and love grows over time</em>. <em>Give him time.</em>” She bared her teeth. “<em>I</em> was grieving. But I didn’t leave, even though he ignored me and our only kit. I stopped begging for his love, though, and I stopped expecting it to come. He would never love me,” she said. “He didn’t even <em>like</em> me.”</p><p>She gathered herself. </p><p>“I dedicated myself to being a good mother, always there for my son,” she said. “Tried to make up for what he was missing. And I kept my promise. I never looked at another cat or left the cat I promised myself to. I only asked him for the most trifling attention, the most minimal consideration and respect. I kept my word, as much as it hurt. As much as it stole from me. I knew how others mocked me for being too foolish to leave, or too pathetic for not realising how much he didn’t want me, or too ungrateful for whatever scraps of affection he offered to me when he remembered to. I stood my ground.”</p><p>She gazed steadily into Kitewhisker’s eyes, head held high.</p><p>“I could have been good for him,” she said. “We didn’t need love for that. And now,” she said, with a wry twist of a lip, “I am remembered for failure and bitterness, not loyalty.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” said Kitewhisker. </p><p>Nightcloud leaned forward and pressed her nose to Kitewhisker’s forehead. “Learn my story—the<em> real</em> one—and take this life with you,” she said. “With it, I give you determination. Choose your path on your own terms and don’t waver. Stand firm in the face of every storm. Endure every gale that comes your way, and let no trial break you.” </p><p>“Thank you,” said Kitewhisker, but Nightcloud was already gone. </p><p>“Don’t take it personally,” said a cat, newly forming. “Some don’t know how to accept gratitude or kindness,” she said. “Too unused to it.”</p><p>Kitewhisker recognised the cat at once.</p><p>“Brightheart of Thunderclan,” she said, bowing her head.</p><p>Brightheart inclined her head in return. “You know me, and my story. To tell you the truth, I feel it sometimes gets a <em>little</em> less generous of spirit in the retelling, what with how some things went down. What would you like to know?”</p><p>“Are you happy with how you’re remembered?” asked Kitewhisker. </p><p>Brightheart considered the question for a moment, her fluffy tail gently waving. </p><p>“Couldn’t have done it better,” she said eventually. “I don’t get to control how I’m remembered, and I don’t think I’d want to, but I’m proud of the life I led and I think my story<em> matters</em>—even when not told by the most skilled of tellers. For as long as there are warriors, there will be warriors like me, and I like knowing they feel less alone when I am with them.”</p><p>“What lesson can you offer me?” asked Kitewhisker, then quickly added, “Anything is appreciated.”</p><p>Brightheart considered again, tilting her head to the side. </p><p>“The darkest time in my life,” she said, “was when I thought my leader lost hope in me. She thought I was a punishment on her, and the clan, because she had angered Starclan—and for a while, I believed that too. She died before I could ever speak to her about what happened between us and, for some time, I didn’t know how to feel about what she did. I was hurt, of course, and scared she was right, and angry and betrayed that <em>she</em> hurt me, and sad for myself and all the opportunities I thought I’d lost. I wanted an apology. I wanted her to ask <em>my</em> forgiveness—and sometimes, secretly between you and me, I would imagine not giving it to her, so that she would hurt like<em> I </em>did. But she died.” </p><p>Brightheart sighed a little breath into the air between them, sending sparkling dust swirling through the dark. </p><p>“Isn’t that pretty?” she said, before continuing. “Eventually, I figured things out for myself and became the warrior I’d always wanted to be, with a few things different.” She gestured to the scarred side of her face. “And by then, I realised the pain my leader had been in. I’m not saying that what she did to me was right, because it wasn’t. But as I grew, I decided I could find peace without an apology from her. Her pain had become my pain, but I didn’t need to carry it with me anymore. I let it go and I forgave her for her mistakes. Not because she asked me to, but because I understood: it was never about me and an apology wouldn’t have healed my,” she gave a little chirp of amusement, “<em>anything</em>, actually. Not my face or my heart or my feelings.”</p><p>She padded closer to Kitewhisker. Up close, Kitewhisker saw the kindness in the twinkle of her pale blue eye.</p><p>“When you are leader,” she said, placing her nose to Kitewhisker’s brow, “remember this story. Take my life and use it to act with grace and forgiveness. Try not to pass your pain on to others, and when others do wrong by you, resist the temptation for vengeance or resentment. In Thunderclan, we have this saying: a grudge is like a hot stone—better to sit on than carry with you!” </p><p>She turned and padded towards the dark, before pausing and looking back to Kitewhisker. </p><p>“Stand up for yourself, though,” she said. “Don’t forget that either. Sometimes people <em>are</em> wrong to treat you the way they do, and when that happens…” She faked a swipe with one broad paw, claws gleaming. “You know what to do.” </p><p>“She’s so fun, don’t you think?”</p><p>Kitewhisker jumped as the voice spoke beside her. </p><p>A fluid shape, quick and shimmering, pranced into view, her purr bubbling with delight. </p><p>“Spooked you!” said the cat, squinting in amusement. She was young enough to make Kitewhisker’s heart shiver with mourning. “Can you guess who<em> I</em> am?”</p><p>She posed with a flourish, tail quirked high and perfectly shaped ears perked. Her pelt was plush and beautifully patterned: silver, with elegant swirls of black, much like the smoke billowing at the corners of Kitewhisker’s vision. </p><p>“Riverclan?” hazarded Kitewhisker.</p><p>“Oh, good guess,” said the cat. She leaned in conspiratorially. “A little Windclan too, but <em>shh</em>.”</p><p>She sat and washed behind one ear, purely—Kitewhisker realised—for the thoughtful look of it. </p><p>“I am Silverstream of Riverclan, actually,” said the silver tabby, “answering your call for cats who were taken before their time. I didn’t live long enough to sacrifice myself, like kind old Rosetail. I was just a casualty of living.” </p><p>“I’m sorry,” said Kitewhisker. </p><p>Silverstream shrugged her shoulders, but her ears sat lower, sadly. “It happens,” she said. “Kitting trouble, you know. What can you do?” </p><p>They waited a moment in silence. </p><p>“I guess I should tell you my story?” she said after a few heartbeats. “Problem is, there’s less to tell than I’d like... Oh!” </p><p>She stood up, fur nearly bristling with excitement. </p><p>“I know!” said Silverstream, bright blue eyes wide. “There <em>is </em>a story I want to tell you and it goes like this: there was once a Riverclan cat, the beautiful daughter of the clan leader, and she was brave and clever and, <em>oh</em>, you know, generally talented at everything, and one day she met a Thunderclan warrior and saved him from drowning, and he fell for her and courted her with all kinds of forest trinkets and she fell for him, eventually, and then before long, she was pregnant—surprising, I know. And <em>then</em>…”</p><p>Kitewhisker braced.</p><p>“Her kits were born, and Riverclan <em>adored</em> them. The Thunderclan warrior visited from time to time, and the kittens grew in their mother’s clan and she was so proud of them. As for her, she lived! She went on to explore the whole world as far as she could walk. She met her kin in Windclan and ran with them over the moors, and she went on raids through the forbidden world with Riverclan and found her own trinkets to bring home and give to her loved ones. She even visited Thunderclan sometimes, even though she wasn’t supposed to. And her life was full of adventure. She got old, which happens when you live for so many seasons,” said Silverstream, earnest and bright, “and because of all she’d seen, she became wise. When the clans had to travel from their home to the new land, she was with them, and she taught them to get along and appreciate each other’s differences. There was no more fighting after that. No more half-clan kittens. No more worrying about who’s got whose blood, or starving to death. Everyone lived in peace, and love was allowed. All because she lived.” </p><p>“It’s a beautiful story,” said Kitewhisker. </p><p>“I like to think it would have been mine,” said Silverstream, a proud note in her voice. “I want you to have it,” she added, “my gift to you. A trinket to remember me by. And this.” </p><p>She pressed her nose to Kitewhisker’s forehead, as the others had. </p><p>“With this life, my life, I give you curiosity,” said Silverstream. “Take in all the world with wonder! Question what you know and ask if there can be a better way. Let your joy lead you and learn to delight in what’s different and new.” </p><p>She glanced into the dark. </p><p>“Your turn,” she said, before trotting away. </p><p>A sleek ginger cat prowled into her place. Even in Starclan, there was a gauntness about her; her face was sharp with piercing glass-green eyes, the kind that sometimes littered the side of the thunderpath, and her ears had the pocks and notches of many battles. There was a slinking motion in her gait and a callousness in the glitter of her unflinching gaze. </p><p>“I had wondered if any from Shadowclan would answer,” said Kitewhisker, dipping her head.</p><p>“Oh yes. Not just <em>any</em> warrior, either,” said the cat. “I am Foxheart of Shadowclan. I was deputy in my life. You’ve heard of me.”</p><p>“I have,” said Kitewhisker. Though faded somewhat in history, she was known as the deputy of Raggedstar, and widely believed to be the mother of his son. But she had appeared <em>here, </em>answering the call for truth, Kitewhisker considered, which meant that things were perhaps not what they seemed. </p><p>“I wanted to be leader of Shadowclan,” said Foxheart. Her words seemed harsh and unfamiliar on Kitewhisker’s ears, the Shadowclan accent from innumerable generations ago. “I worked hard for it. I had vision for my clan, and I had the tenacity. Raggedstar was my rival, when we were both warriors, but my friend as well. We pushed each other to be better. But he was older and more experienced, and he was chosen for deputy. Not me.”</p><p>She sounded annoyed, but not bitter. </p><p>“We weren’t anything, you know,” she said. “That’s the first secret. No-one believed us, though. Imagine,” she drawled, voice laced with sarcasm, “an ambitious molly <em>only friends</em> with an ambitious tom? There <em>has</em> to be something more.”</p><p>She faked a retching sound, like coughing on a hairball.</p><p>“So there was that,” she said. “Then Raggedpelt—that was his name at the time—says he’s got a kit now, but won’t say who or where the mother is. Everyone looks at me, because of course they do. But here’s the second secret: it weren’t mine. Not ever.”</p><p>Kitewhisker pricked her ears in intrigue. </p><p>“Why didn’t you say so?” she asked, unable to stop herself. </p><p>“Raggedstar was a friend,” replied Foxheart. “And I’m not a snitch. Whoever had this kit wanted it to be a secret, and I guessed it was for good reason. So I let it slide. I said nothing. Let them all believe I was the mother, but I never once lied. Then Raggedstar becomes leader and he says to me, <em>you’ve worked the hardest out of everyone for this </em>and <em>you’ve proved you’re trustworthy and loyal</em>. He made me his deputy.”</p><p>Her ears flattened somewhat. </p><p>“But people talk, don’t they?” she said. There was a brief flash of fangs. “They said he picked me only because I was the mother of his kit, said I wasn’t <em>really</em> fit for deputy because I got there by… wiles. At gatherings, I heard other clans scoff my name, saying I had no morals, that I would do <em>anything</em> to get what I wanted. And maybe that’s true,” she said, “maybe I would do anything, but no-one ever thought to wonder if I was doing what’s actually <em>right</em>.”</p><p>“Then the kitten grew up,” said Kitewhisker. Everyone knew this story, but no-one said his name. </p><p>“He did,” said Foxheart. “Regrettable. But I still let everyone believe they knew who I was. There was no other choice for me. If I spoke out, it would soon become clear who <em>was</em> his birth mother. I was defending <em>her</em>, more than Raggedstar. I figured it out, you see. That’s the third secret,” said Foxheart. </p><p>“We knew,” said a shadowy figure. </p><p>She stepped into the light beside Foxheart. She was plain-looking: a pale brown tabby with a white underbelly and a vaguely weasel-ish appearance. She was the kind of cat no-one would have paid much attention to, at a gathering or in a battle. </p><p>“I am Lizardstripe of Shadowclan,” said the cat. “I nursed him, alongside my own kits.”</p><p>The name nudged a memory in Kitewhisker’s mind. “I <em>do </em>know you,” she said. “You’re…” </p><p><em>Blamed for him</em>, she thought. <em>You’re the bad mother</em>.</p><p>“I was too loving and spoiled him,” said Lizardstripe, “or not loving enough and scarred his heart and mind with my cruelty and neglect. I can never remember which it is.” She exchanged glances with Foxheart beside her. “It changes so much.”</p><p>“I was too absent,” said Foxheart. “It was <em>my</em> fault, for abandoning my kit. They say if I’d raised him myself, like a good mother should have and gave up on my dreams of deputy, he would have been better.” </p><p>“They say he got his hatefulness from me,” said Lizardstripe. </p><p>“Funny,” said Foxheart. “They say that about me too.”</p><p>“Then why?” asked Kitewhisker. “If it tarnished you like this, why did you do it?”</p><p>Lizardstripe and Foxheart looked affronted.</p><p>“I wouldn’t let a kit starve,” said Lizardstripe. </p><p>“I wouldn’t let his mother be dragged through the mud,” said Foxheart. </p><p>Lizardstripe nodded. “I didn’t know exactly who the mother was,” she said, “but she was a clan-mate. For a long time, I thought it was Foxheart. I knew she wanted to be deputy, more than anything. At first, I thought Raggedstar made her choose: raise his kit, or be his deputy. But that didn’t make sense. She could have done both. He could have let her.” </p><p>Foxheart stood tall and stern and, in that moment, Kitewhisker saw through what she first thought was callousness. It was a cold and unbending sense of honour; it was an icy selflessness, a burning confidence in herself. </p><p>“That was how I knew the mother couldn’t be her,” said Lizardstripe. </p><p>“It took both of us to keep her secret,” said Foxheart. “We couldn’t have done it alone.”</p><p>“Who was it?” breathed Kitewhisker. </p><p>Lizardstripe looked to Foxheart, seeking guidance.</p><p>“That’s not ours to say,” said Foxheart. </p><p>She padded forward and placed her nose to Kitewhisker’s brow. </p><p>“With this life I give, live with integrity,” she said with a fierceness that made Kitewhisker’s fur shiver. “No-one can take it away from you.” </p><p>Lizardstripe stepped forward as Foxheart stepped back.</p><p>“With this life,” she said, “choose to be compassionate. Be generous with what you have to give, even if it’s not much. You never know when you’ll change the world.” </p><p>The two Shadowclan cats prowled together into the dark, pelts melting away into dust as they padded from the light. </p><p>The smoke and dust swirled and mingled, taking a new shape. She was a little short-legged and square, with solid shoulders and a dense ruff of fur, like most of Thunderclan. She gave a little shake of her fur, mist drifting from her flecked pelt, and then padded over to Kitewhisker. </p><p>She had a round, friendly face, with pretty pale green eyes. </p><p>“I am Ferncloud of Thunderclan,” she said. “Hello, Kitewhisker. You look tired.” She gave Kitewhisker a sympathetic look. “Not much longer,” she promised. “Then you can go home to your clan.” She quirked an ear, as if listening. “They’re excited to see their new leader.” </p><p>Kitewhisker felt a warm rush at the thought. “Thank you, Ferncloud.”</p><p>“I suppose you want to know about me too?” she said, sitting down. “I lived a good life—Rosetail would be proud of it. I found my calling early in my life: I loved to see young cats thrive, so I became a mother. Which is to say, I chose grief as my opponent in the great battle of living. For warriors, they fight against fear, but I brought new lives into the world and I knew every time I did that there was a chance they would be taken from me. I poured my time and love into each and every one, like they were the first I ever had. And not just my own babies, but every cat born in my clan.”</p><p>Kitewhisker now noticed the streaks of silver-grey fur, hidden among the old queen’s dappled markings. Her wide eyes and roundness gave the illusion of youth, but up close, it was clear the signs of a long-lived warrior: there was a faded quality to her, like a well-trodden path to a watering pool. </p><p>“How did you do it?” asked Kitewhisker in genuine amazement. “Warriors don’t fight every day, but you never had a day of rest, did you?”</p><p>Ferncloud demurely looked away. “The work of a queen never stops,” she said. “Even when they leave the nursery, they’re a part of you. Your heart aches with their pain, and sings with their triumphs. Being a leader is the same. You have to be the love that never ends.”</p><p>“I’ve never heard your story before,” admitted Kitewhisker. </p><p>“Oh, you wouldn’t,” said Ferncloud. “My story doesn’t make good retelling. I spent most of my time in the nursery, teaching kits to speak, or calming queens about to have their first litter. There weren’t many grand adventures, or great battles, or moments of glory. Just quiet work, every day and every night.”</p><p>“Does it make you sad,” asked Kitewhisker, “that you’re not… remembered?”</p><p>Ferncloud’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, but I <em>am</em>,” she said, eyes crinkled in a smile. “I am what love looks like to every cat who knew me. I am a part of every cat I raised, just as they’re a part of me, and I was always with them. No cat alive knows my name now, but there are many cats in Thunderclan that are alive <em>because</em> of me. They are my distant kin and in their blood I’m immortal. And in every nursery, queens still pray to me and the others like me to watch over them. And I do.” </p><p>She stood up and placed her nose to Kitewhisker, giving her gift.</p><p>“With this humble life of mine,” said Ferncloud, “I remind you to live with dignity. In everything you do, know your worth. Quiet everyday love will be overlooked again and again, until it’s gone. Then you will feel no absence greater. So value what you bring to the world, Kitewhisker, and love your clan, because they are <em>yours.</em>” </p><p>Ferncloud’s eyes sparked with green fire as she bowed and returned to smoke. </p><p>“There has been great wisdom shared here tonight,” said a voice, echoing as if from all around. “Which is too bad, because I had planned that as my life to you. You know me, storyteller.”</p><p>Kitewhisker glanced into the dark. “Please step forward so I can know you better, stranger.”</p><p>Another old grey cat padded into the light. </p><p>“My name is Greypool of Riverclan,” she said. </p><p>Kitewhisker bowed deeply. “I know you. You’re a legend.”</p><p>“Among a select few,” said Greypool, with an amused twitch of whiskers. “But I can see I am in good company this evening.” </p><p>“There were many Windclan cats who wish you’d stayed in Windclan,” said Kitewhisker, startled by her own enthusiasm. “You had enviable talents in our greatest arts. Your stories were some of my favourites growing up,” she added, feeling suddenly shy. </p><p>“That’s very kind,” said Greypool. “I always believed stories were the last magic in our world. I think you do too.”</p><p>Kitewhisker nodded. </p><p>“Incredible, isn’t it, how something invisible, intangible, and ephemeral has so much power,” said Greypool. “And so <em>changeable</em>. As you’ve seen tonight.”</p><p>“It’s frightening, sometimes,” admitted Kitewhisker. </p><p>“Undoubtedly,” said Greypool. “How easily we turn from hero to hated, from no-one important to noble-hearted and irreplaceable in the story, all by the whim of words.” </p><p>Kitewhisker hesitated. </p><p>“How can I stop it from happening to me?” she asked. </p><p>Greypool gave her a kind glance. “You can’t. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Kitewhisker looked down to her paws, half-lost in the shadows. </p><p>“Is it all for nothing, then?” she asked, then added, “I mean. I know my life matters. I know we <em>all</em> matter. But if the truth is lost… or distorted by time... ”</p><p>“Keep telling the truth, Kitewhisker,” said Greypool. “Tell honest stories. That’s the power we have. There might be no way to change the tide of history, or control how we’re remembered, but, as we say in Riverclan, if you don’t swim against the current, it will take you with it anyway. You might as well swim, and hope.” </p><p>“I will remember that,” said Kitewhisker gratefully.</p><p>“I know you will,” said Greypool. She padded to Kitewhisker, who lowered her head to receive the final life. “With this life, I give you the gift of memory. What matters will always stay with you. The past lives on in you and the future is not decided yet, so learn from history and do better in your time. And keep telling stories,” she said. “Loving, true, compassionate stories. The world always needs them.” </p><p>She stepped back. </p><p>“Rise, Kitestar,” said Greypool.</p><p><em>Rise, Kitestar</em>, echoed the voices of Starclan. <em>Rise</em>.</p><p>Greypool was gone when Kitestar looked up. The shining circle of the moon was empty before her, waiting. She padded into the light. </p><p>At the shadowed edge of the moon, she saw the faintly shimmering shapes of nine cats, watching her. They were faded, no longer solid or real-seeming; their colours had melted into the night and even their silhouettes shifted with the darkness around them, loose as water.</p><p>“Thank you,” she said. </p><p><em>Thank you</em>, echoed the voices. </p><p>“I’ll tell your stories,” said Kitestar. “I know the truth. You were someone. You mattered.”</p><p><em>Thank you</em>, echoed the voices, lapping like waves. <em>Thank you</em>.</p><p>Kitestar crouched, closing her eyes, jaw resting on her paw. </p><p><em>Live well</em>, said the voices of Starclan. </p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A loud drip of water woke Kitestar. It sent ripples across the star-littered surface of the Moonpool. </p><p>Her body felt dead with cold, her muscles stiff from sleeping on the hard stone floor of the cavern. She stood up slowly, stretching life back into her limbs. </p><p>She bowed her head one final time to the pool, and then padded back towards the tunnel. Her clan was waiting. </p><p>The heavy blackness of the tunnel reached for her, but she felt no fear as she stepped into the sightlessness of it once more. The eerie stillness folded around her again, but she padded onward to home.</p><p>Her whiskers tingled as she walked. </p><p>She turned a final corner and stepped out into the cool breeze of the evening. High above, the moon shone down, the stones turned milk-white under its gentle glow. </p><p>Kitestar felt as though she had never seen the world before now. Not really. It seemed fresh and lovely as a fragile flower, and older than she could possibly imagine, new and ancient and wonderful and alive.</p><p>“Thank you,” she said, to the sky. Then she looked over her shoulder to her companions, who had walked the tunnel with her.</p><p>Nine sets of eyes stared back at her, bright as stars. </p><p>“I will learn,” she promised. </p><p>The mouth of the tunnel was dark and empty, like it had always been.</p><p>Kitestar headed home to her clan.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><i>but we want to say before we drop the curtain,</i><br/><i>nothing is for sure, nothing is for certain,</i><br/><i>all that we know is that we used to be nine lives,</i><br/> <br/><i>but now we’re yours.</i></p><p> </p><p>—remix of “Six,” from <i>Six the Musical.</i></p></blockquote></div></div>
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